A needle: a small, thin object

with a sharp point that mends

our open wounds.

 

Sewing needles are polished

and used by seamstresses

to keep our clothes

stitched and tailored.

Acupuncture needles,

a traditional remedy believed

to heal the body and mind.

 

Fresh scented pine trees

bow through summer and winter,

fall and spring.

These needles are survivors,

they never sleep.

 

But, the needle you preferred

produces only

unanswered questions,

tears and disarray.

 

When the needle

punctured your skin,

its venom sprinted

through your bloodstream,

freeing your endorphins

to dance inside your brain.

Your body rattled, eyes twisted,

you descended into

a self-constructed euphoria.

 

You settled in dwellings

the needle provided,

dishonest, dead and rheumy eyed

as you chased your magical dragon

to ease your unfathomable pain,

time slipped by you and like a crook in black,

life faded away.

 

A boy of six or seven,

asleep on a ruined mattress,

in a home abandoned.

 

A son; your blood and kin.

His eyes flutter open,

to see you at rest on a chair

beside the window frame,

No clouds or shine,

no moon nor stars;

no emotion, no hesitation;

Only you, his protector,

thrusting that needle into your vein.